


warm shards of ice.

by dre_amer



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Author is a Clay | Dream Apologist (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Comfort/Angst, Dream Gets Used For His Powers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Hurt Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Manipulation, Manipulative Quackity, Mom Captain Puffy, Mom Niki Nihachu, Prison, Prisoner Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Resurrected Wilbur Soot, Stay safe!!, broken and/or blind dream prompt, dream thinks he's only valuable for his powers, i hurt my own feelings writing this, im sorry quackity fans, may become a series? if you want uwu, screams, this is for a competition but you can still read it :D
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:28:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29076354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dre_amer/pseuds/dre_amer
Summary: "Everybody on this server fucking hates you — you might as well make yourself useful."Who knew it would hurt so much?TW // dehumanization , emotional manipulation , psychological manipulation, self hatred (?).
Relationships: Cara | CaptainPuffy & Clay | Dream, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Darryl Noveschosch & Sapnap, Clay | Dream & Luke | Punz, Clay | Dream & Niki | Nihachu, Clay | Dream & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 110
Kudos: 1175
Collections: dream-centric discord comp.





	warm shards of ice.

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is an entry for a competition in the ghost dream/dream angst discord server, but it can be read separately and on its own. please read the tags and summaries for trigger/panic attack warnings!! :D
> 
> disclaimer for the "dream apologist" tag — i don't agree with dsmp!dream's actions, and i'm not excusing them at all; i just think he's a very interesting character and i want to write about his reaction to this kind of manipulation. also, apologies to any quackity fans — i might let them reconcile later, but that really depends on if i'm writing a sequel to this or not. 
> 
> another reminder about the trigger warnings — here's they are:  
> TW // dehumanization , emotional manipulation , psychological manipulation, self hatred !! 
> 
> please read through these and make sure they're safe topics for you to read about. ty and stay safe!! <3

Quackity’s words were like vines, curling and digging and rooting themselves into Dream’s long-gone mind, twisting around his gut and wringing around his insides. The blonde hunched into himself, shuddering and pressing his forearms into his sternum as he tried to steady his breathing. 

_“Everyone on this server fucking hates you — you might as well make yourself useful.”_

There was so much anger, so much freezing shards of frosty ice all flying towards Dream and embedding themselves in his exhausted body.

It had all just started with Quackity visiting — such a simple and innocent thing, a visit — asking if he could truly revive people. His words had been kind, tone soft, and Dream, desperate to please someone — _anyone_ — and bring happiness and joy for once, had eagerly demonstrated his powers. 

He had ignored the twinging jabs of pain prickling at his body. He had ignored the dark glint in Quackity’s even darker eyes. He had turned a blind eye, choosing to instead focus on the satisfied smile curling the sculpted edges of Quackity’s lips. 

And then the visits grew, one by one, slowly, until almost the entire SMP was flocking to the prison in hopes of getting someone, something, revived and brought back to life. 

Dream swallowed down and buried the pain and exhaustion that came with the process, because a grin, a smile, a little touch on the shoulder or hand always followed and _god,_ if physical touch didn’t feel good ~~_after months of being isolated._ ~~

And plus, Dream could handle the pain. He could pay the price, he could take it all in without a single complaint or pained whine escaping because he was getting more than he deserved. Dream didn’t deserve the little touches, the tiny slivers of affection. He was just a tool that others could use for their own gain — that was what Quackity had told him, and what reason did he have to not believe the other? Dream was a tyrant, had always been a tyrant. He couldn’t be fixed, couldn’t ever be loved again. 

But Dream could always be of use at least, and help out others, even if it came at the cost of his own happiness and health. That was fine. He was fine. Dream could bear this, it was nothing compared to the heavy burden he always wore on his shoulders. The one nobody else saw. 

~~_The one nobody cared enough to see._~~

So what if he plastered a smile onto his cracked, bleeding lips each time someone came to visit him? So what if he cherished and tucked away every single time someone showed him affection as if he’d never experience it again?

~~_So what if he could count how many times he’d been gifted physical affection on his thin, thin fingers?_ ~~

That didn’t matter. What mattered was making the others happy, bringing them joy and delight ~~_even if it took away his own._ ~~

And so Dream smiled, paid the price for everyone else’s glee, and withered away in his little obsidian cell as he watched everyone else be so _happy_ without him. 

Dream resigned himself to this fate, this accursed future of simply watching. Perking up in excitement when the lava parted to reveal someone, slumping the tiniest bit when they uttered the name of someone they wanted to yank back to life, carving a smile onto his face and letting it slip as soon as they left. Bending over the lava, heaving up any remaining tatters of food he had left in his body. 

He’d started to pitch himself into the curtains of lava covering the entrance to his cell to mask the pained vines that curled around his ribcage and threatened to snap his bones from inside out. It burned, and it hurt, but it was better than having enough energy to deal with the aching twinges pinging throughout his limbs. Plus, when he did that, Sam usually came around to check on him — and that meant more ~~_undeserved_~~ human interaction for him, even if it was from a warden who despised his guts. That was fine, as long as he got to see another person and have a one-sided conversation with them. 

After a while, though, the burns and scorch marks began showing up even after death. When his arms became covered through and through with angry red, singed lines, Dream stopped going swimming in the lava. 

It was much easier when he got visits, despite the agony he’d be afflicted with afterwards. The person would usually leave with a simple ‘Thank you’ — ~~_sometimes not even that_~~ — but if he got lucky, he would get a grin or two. And if he was _really_ quite lucky that day, a pat or two on the shoulder or the back. 

Dream wasn’t lucky too often these days. 

He didn’t really like the handshakes some of the people offered, since the feeling of having his hands trapped in someone else’s sent his head spiraling and chest tightening, but he took them anyway and dealt with the consequences later. Any kind of touch he could get, Dream grabbed at. 

He knew he shouldn’t, and that he should shy away and distance himself — he didn’t _deserve_ any of this affection, any of the scraps of kindness he was shown ~~_every once in a long, long time_~~ — but Dream couldn’t help himself. Quackity did come around every now and then and fix that problem, though. 

And _god,_ if those “appointments” didn’t hurt — but he could take it! Dream knew he was pushing the lines, accepting physical affection left and right, and always hung his head in guilt when Quackity stared at him with disappointment curdling in his dark, dark eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” he’d whisper. Quackity would scoff. 

“No, you’re not,” the dark-haired man would spit back, and whirl around to march through the lava. Dream would watch him go, shame curling off of his thinning body in wisps with the lingering thought in mind, _‘No, I’m not.’_

And then, later, as Dream vomited into the lava and curled up against the wall as his form shuddered violently, pain spasming throughout his limbs and sobs tearing themselves out of his mouth, he would make a promise to himself that he wouldn’t disappoint again. Not the others, not Quackity, not Sam or anyone else. He would be the perfect little tool, the silent and obedient and detached person that only did the bidding of others.

That should make the entire SMP happy, right? 

~~_Right?_ ~~

Right. 

And so Dream healed as he broke, smiled as he withered, and lived as he died. 

* * *

Dream’s head snapped upwards, neck and spine cracking as he scrambled to his feet and brushed off any intangible lint. The chugs of triggered pistons resounded through the hot air, both dry and humid somehow, and the curtains of lava slowly parted as someone sailed through them on the shifting platform. A familiar, grating voice came slicing through the silence, and Dream tensed and relaxed at the same time. 

“AYO, BIG D! WHAT’S POPPIN’?” Tommy jumped into the cell, grinning far too widely for this to be a normal visit. Dream eyed him warily, wondering if the teen had someone else he wanted to resurrect, and then immediately dropped his gaze in guilt — he shouldn’t be acting like this, Tommy had the right to do whatever he wanted with Dream and his powers. 

Dream opened his mouth, having practiced his lines far too many times to count beforehand — “Who do you want, Tommy?” — but the words died on his tongue, heavy and rotting, as Tubbo poked his head inside. 

And then Punz, then Eret, then Fundy and Puffy and Skeppy and Niki. Karl shuffled in, followed by Ranboo and the revived Wilbur and Technoblade and Philza and- _god,_ was the entire SMP here? 

No, Sam and Quackity and his- best friends? Former best friends? ~~_Enemies?_~~ Sapnap and George and Bad. They were all missing, although Quackity and the rest of the Dream Team — plus Bad — walked in a little later. Dream assumed Sam was staying behind to operate all the machinery, but he couldn’t help but wish that the green creeper hybrid were here along with everyone else. 

Dream stared; the rest of the SMP stared back, their gazes feeling like physical weights pushing down on his body in the cramped space. His mouth went dry. “Do... do you all have someone you want to bring back at once?” 

Even just _thinking_ about it made Dream shudder — that would hurt like a _bitch_ later on, he could already feel it — but he steeled himself when he met Quackity’s cold dark eyes, curling his hands into fists behind his back and digging his nails into his palms. Dream willed away the tears pressing at the back of his eyes and mumbled out, “I can’t- well, I can, but I can’t do it all at once- that would probably kill me with the pain and effort it takes, so- yeah. I can take around three people at once, maybe four if I really stretch it but- yeah, uh-” 

Dream paused, knowing full well two people was the maximum he could push himself to without promptly passing out. Then he caught Quackity’s eyes again and pushed out the rest of the words from between tight lips. “I’m sorry, but the rest of you will have to- to wait. I’m sorry, I didn’t- I don’t mean to disappoint, but I really- I really can’t revive thirty people and once and-” 

“Dream.” 

The sound of his name cut through his ramblings, the said blonde already cursing himself out in his mind as he snapped his jaw shut with an audible click. He chanced a glance upwards, finding the resurrected Wilbur standing in front of him with a look he couldn’t decipher. His familiar deep voice made the blonde’s chest ache — gone was the perky cheerfulness of Ghostbur and the childish innocence he carried so easily with him, replaced by the old Wilbur with dark, dark eyebags and hearty laughter and nimble fingers strumming guitars.

“Dream, we didn’t come to revive anyone.” 

The blonde tilted his head, mind racing through any other possibilities and heart dropping when he came to the most logical one.

Oh. 

They were planning to take his last life. 

And — well, if nothing else, it was fitting. His first two lives had been taken in the same situation, Dream being cornered and outnumbered by thirty to one whilst surrounded by obsidian, and his last life would be taken the same way. Falling to the blades of his own weapons, wielded by the people he hurt most. 

It was poetic — ironic — in a way. 

“Oh, I’m- I’m sorry,” Dream finally stammered out, releasing the death grip on his hands only to raise them to the hem of his hoodie and twist his fingers into the worn fabric tightly. The tears he’d been holding back finally filled his eyes, blurring his vision. “I’m sorry, I didn’t- oh, god, okay, just- make it painless, please, I don’t- I know I don’t deserve it, but please-” 

“Woah, woah, calm down just a bit- what are you talking about? Make what painless?” Another voice chimed in, a little higher-pitched with the tiniest drawl — Captain Puffy. She peered down at him through clear brown eyes and Dream squinted back up at her, wishing she would just drop the act and run him through with a sword. Or convince Wilbur to; either one was fine. 

That wouldn’t be such a bad way to go, would it? A permanent death, brought by the hands of his own mother figure, the one who had always given him the love that he had never deserved. 

Or if it was Wilbur — wouldn’t it be oddly appropriate that the very first person Dream had brought back to life with his own blood, sweat, and tears would be the one to end his own?

After a few minutes of terse silence, filled with bated breathing and uncomfortable averting of eyes, Dream opened his mouth.

“Why aren’t you-” he struggled to keep his voice steady, to keep it from dropping and breaking and shattering into pieces in the stiff atmosphere, “-why aren’t you killing me yet?” 

Dream’s eyes flickered to the empty hands of the other players, at the lack of weaponry in their clenched fists, and he immediately began backing away, shaking his head and tripping over both his feet and words in his growing panic.

“Wait- is it- oh, god, I don’t- please, just use a sword or something, I don’t want to be thrown in the lava- that hurts, and it leaves burns that won’t go away no matter how much I scratch at it- anything but the lava, please-” His breaths became shallower and shorter, pattern becoming erratic — god, a panic attack? _Now,_ of all times? 

Dream flinched away, hard, when Puffy reached out again, fingers outstretched to rest on his shoulder. He ached for her touch, ached for any sort of contact, but recoiled as soon as he looked at Quackity. “Please, not the lava- anything but the lava, please, _please-”_

_“Dream!”_

Puffy’s voice, normally so calm and bubbly, was now jerky and pitchy in her panic. Dream quieted immediately, berating himself for making Puffy upset. He could punish himself later, that was fine — and Quackity would probably help as well. That was fine too. 

“Dream, Duckling, listen- we’re not going to hurt you,” Puffy said, her words nothing but a gentle, flimsy caress swiping against Dream’s consciousness. 

~~_But you already have._ ~~

He ignored the electric jolt that ran through his mind at the word ‘Duckling’ — he wasn’t deserving of that name. “Then- then why...?” Dream peered up at his former mother figure through the screen of hazy tears. “I-I don’t have anything else to give.” 

Another realization, horrible and disgusting, writhed its way into his mind — perhaps the people of his the SMP was here to demand items from him? Totems of Undying, shulker boxes, blocks of bedrock, elytras. That wouldn’t hurt as much as reviving something or someone, but it still caused pain. 

But it was easier, a little less of a burden on his body, and he would do whatever it took to make the others happy. Dream straightened his back, braced himself for the agony he could already feel plucking at his bones, and opened his mouth once again to say- 

“We’re here to release you.” 

He closed his mouth and wondered if his ears had gone bad from the months of isolation. 

Release? Freedom? No more days of waking up to the same, daunting obsidian and blazing lava?

~~_No more days of screaming his throat raw just to hear something, of scratching at his arms and skin just to feel something?_ ~~

“R-release?” Dream wondered for a brief moment if they meant release as in death, but shook away that thought. “From what?” 

Punz stepped forward, icy blue eyes cool and collected. Dream didn’t see the tiny tremor of his lip. “Release you from the prison, Dream.” 

“Release? From the prison?” Dream couldn’t believe whatever words his ears were hearing — he must’ve heard them wrong, or registered them wrong somehow. He couldn’t be released from the prison, he didn’t deserve it. 

“Yes, Dream, from the prison.” Tubbo spoke up, his president’s suit replaced with the familiar oversized green shirt. The boy looked so much more like his old self. “Come on now, we don’t have much time-” 

“Wait,” Dream stammered, backing away once again and letting his back press against the obsidian wall, “I don’t- I can’t go.” 

And _god,_ it hurt, saying those words and declining the freedom he so ached for and dreamed about, but when he saw the pleased look in Quackity’s eyes, he knew he’d probably done the right thing. 

~~_Right for him, or right for Quackity?_ ~~

Eret tilted their head, crown somehow remaining steady on their brow. “What do you mean, you can’t go?” Their voice was composed as always, deep and unwavering, bright white gaze behind his iconic sunglasses digging into Dream’s head and pinning him in place. 

The blonde only shook his head. None of them would understand — none of them would ever _care_ to understand — so he just sank back onto the cold obsidian and pressed his lips together, swallowing the words that pushed against his lips urgently. 

Tommy, snorting in irritation, scuffed the toe of his shoes against the obsidian. “Come on, you big green bitch- let’s just get out of here. The lava’s all bright and shit, my eyes are gonna go deaf.” 

“But- I can’t leave,” Dream repeated, averting his eyes as he felt the gaze of the rest of the SMP burning a hole into his head. “I just- I can’t.”

”But why not?” Fundy’s higher-pitched voice piped in, and Dream felt his heart — if he even had one left — twist and wrench in his chest. Poor, poor Fundy, falling for a man who was incapable of love. 

That was what Quackity had told him, and he had been right. 

Dream pulled at the hem of his ragged hoodie, trying to devise a response that would convince them all that he was hopeless and broken and should be left behind to rot. That was what he deserved, wasn’t it? So why couldn’t the others see that?

The longer he stayed silent, the more confusions and frustration he sensed building up, until the swelling bubble finally burst as three different people blurted out a few short, clipped words at once. Dream shrank back as the others began shouting — not shouting, but accusing — with irked snips of harsh words.

Some of the cold, biting words were directed at him, at Dream — _“Come on, Dream, what’s wrong now?” “Don’t be a pissbaby and come on, let’s go-” “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”_ — and the blonde couldn’t help the panic rising increasingly fast inside his chest, bubbling and churning until it finally spilled over in the form of a rushed rant falling gracelessly from his lips. 

“Because- because I don’t deserve it!” And as soon as those words were out, the rest came tumbling down. “I don’t _deserve_ any of this, I don’t deserve any of the kindness or affection anyone shows me because- I’m a bad person, aren’t I?” His fingers trembled as he twisted them harshly into his hair, curling them and tugging painfully. “That’s what Quackity said, that’s what- that’s what Tommy and Tubbo and- and George and Sapnap and Bad said. That’s why I’m locked up here; because I’m a bad person.” 

His voice choked up, breath catching in his throat, and Dream hacked out a few coughs before letting the rest of the ramble topple from his mouth. “I’m just- I’m just a tool for someone to get what they want, and I’m _fine_ with that, I’m okay, I already accepted it and I already accepted all the pain and torture for the price and- you guys just come in here and tell me I’m _free to go?_ Where would I go — _why_ would I go?” 

A single hiccup escaped him, a dried out, painful-sounding sob following as Dream crumpled, knees hitting the hard, unyielding obsidian. “No one- no one wants me — no one _should_ want me. I’m just- I’m just a fuck-up that couldn’t do his only job properly, and I caused so much pain and- I deserve to be locked up. I do. Everyone told me that, so it must be- it must be true, right?” 

~~_Hasn’t he paid enough? Hasn’t he suffered enough yet?_~~

Dream slumped against the wall, scrubbing at his wet cheeks with hands scarred by burns and fingernail crescents and so much _pain,_ and relished in the stunned moment of silence from the rest of the SMP members. That _had_ to have convinced them that he was beyond help, right? 

~~_Right?_ ~~

Right. 

Which was why Dream jerked away in surprise with a little gasp when Niki crouched in front of him, gentle hand cupping his gaunt cheek — _human touch human touch human touch affection affection affection ~~that he didn’t deserve~~_ — and tears like raindrops of glass sliding down her face. “Oh, Dream...”

Oh, Niki. Sweet, sweet Niki, who’d been hardened by the constant back-to-back wars, who’d been constantly pushed aside by other people — L’Manbergians, Pogtopians, Manbergians — over and over again. Niki, who was full of flour and sugar and comforting giggles and warm, fluffy confectionaries, always ready for Dream to come bouncing around and take a bite out of. 

Against his will, Dream felt himself tearing up, vision blurring as he leaned into Niki’s touch. He knew Quackity was surely staring at him in disappointment, but why did it matter anymore? They were sure to leave afterwards, anyway. 

So he pressed his cheek into Niki’s hand and clung to her wrist with a whimper, as if she would disappear into thin air or- or leave him. Again. Like everyone else. 

The German’s watery eyes softened, other hand drifting up to press itself against Dream’s face, bringing the blonde boy closer and closer — ~~_nononono too close too closetooclose that’s dangerous that’s dangerousdangerousdangerous_~~ — until finally, her impossibly soft arms wrapped around Dream’s scrawny figure and- _oh, god._

The blonde’s eyes widened fractionally, bottom lip trembling as his eyes flickered up to the rest of the SMP staring down at them, searching for any sign of animosity or resentment in their multicolored irides, tensing when his gaze came to rest on Quackity. The dark-haired man didn’t show any emotion — nothing that showed he was against Dream accepting the hug — so the blonde carefully raised his arms, curling them around Niki’s irresistible warmth and burying his face into her shoulder and _finally_ reveling in the embrace of another human being. 

Dream didn’t realize he was crying until Puffy swiped at his cheeks and brushed away drops of salty water, encasing the two in her own firm arms and- Dream was so _warm,_ and he could feel the heartbeat of his two _( ~~f~~_ ~~ _ormer?_~~ _)_ maternal figures thrumming through his body.

He pressed himself further into their hold, nuzzling and shuddering and burning up from the inside out but in a way that felt like- like home, like comfort and affection and warmth that was so different from the harsh incinerating arms of the lava that had been all he’d felt these past months- 

Dream desperately clung to them, memorizing every little bit of this scene and engraving all of the details of their hug, the affection that Dream was sure he wouldn’t be able to feel for a long, long time afterwards. He carved the feeling of Niki’s tangled hair brushing against his cheek, the familiar scent of Puffy’s captain coat, the feeling of their forearms and hands pressing on his bony back into his memory and tucked it away like some rare, priceless artifact. 

Because that was what it was, wasn’t it? Physical affection — _any_ kind of affection — was a sparse thing indeed these days. Especially for Dream. 

“I’m sorry,” Dream choked out, and the words were all wet and sticky, clinging to his throat and refusing to flow out smoothly. He thought the others didn’t mind, though, as he felt Captain Puffy’s arms tighten around him. 

“It’s okay, Duckling, I still love you.” A gentle brush of thin lips against the crown of his head. “We still love you.” 

And Dream wanted to scream, to tear himself away and push all of the warmth and comfort away because those were _lies,_ everything falling from Puffy’s lips — everything that promised him a future of love and hospitality — they were all lies, false truths and promises that were sure to be broken far too soon. 

But he found himself lingering, found his fingers curling themselves into Niki’s sleeve and found his eyes sliding shut as the tension, the anxiety and the stress and the pain, all melted out of him as someone’s gentle hand guided his cheek to press against Niki’s shoulder.

Dream wondered why he felt so relaxed when he was surrounded by the entirety of his — his? — SMP, who all most likely hated his very existence. The very people who had brutally taken two of his lives back-to-back, the people who had used him as a tool over and over again for their own gain, the people who had abandoned and left him behind without a single glance back. 

Perhaps it was because he knew he deserved whatever pain was surely to follow? 

Quackity’s words echoed in his head this time, spinning and twirling and repeating itself until it was merely a shell of its former self. 

_“Everybody on this server fucking hates you, might as well make yourself useful.”_

From what Dream saw and felt right now, not everyone hated him. Perhaps — just maybe — he _didn’t_ just exist to be used and breathe just for the gain of others. 

Dream steadied his breathing and let the warmth of his mothers melt away the shards of ice that had been pushed into his bruised flesh by everyone else.

**Author's Note:**

> so.... how did you like that? :3 i had this idea of dream being manipulated into thinking that he's only good/useful/liked because he has the power to revive others an shit (i actually have another drabble hidden away in my drafts lmao) but i got the dialogue prompt from someone in the discord :D 
> 
> i hope that doesn't disqualify me :( the idea/prompt of this fic is pretty vague and broad, so. i. hsngksdjf yeah sigh 
> 
> anyway, ty for reading the 4.2k words of whatever shit this is lmao leave a comment? maybe?? of what you'd like to see in the (possible) sequels of this fic :DD perhaps i'll find a way to connect the rest of the prompts to the sequel of this fic uwuuwuwuwu 
> 
> stay safe and take care of yourselves loves :D mwah mwah to all of you !! 
> 
> EDIT: so :’) yeah it’s been over a month(?) since i finished and posted this, and i decided i’m not gonna add a second chapter :’D it just seems like uselessly stretching something out that’s already good enough, and i feel like the ending is pretty solid and just open-ended enough to keep it the way it is. thank you again for reading and have a nice day!! C:


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